Lessons for the future
by Natalilly
Summary: A page out of Fox's diary illustrating the less then pleasing aspect of life with three colourful wingmen.


**Fox's Diary**

****

Disclaimer: I own none of the characters or the setting… I own the computer though.

Author's note: I wrote this many years ago when I was in High school, and Star Fox was a game on the Super Nintendo (!) called "Starwing" in Australia, where the graphics were blocky polygons and the "talking" was repetitive babble- but it was one of the THE most impressive and breathtaking games of it's time. I was obsessed with it, I adored it and even wrote stories about the characters, very silly humour ones of which I can only find this one, sadly.  
Rereading it, I'm really quite surprised how accurate (though over exaggerated) the characters were in comparison to its later 64 version. Remember there is little on their actual character in the booklet or the game, it was all guessed and made up, amongst many giggles and tears of laughter between my friends and myself.  
I'll note I have edited it a bit, the old format of writing was a little childish, and I've adapted in a few things we didn't know about then- most notably the Great Fox and Wolf's presence.  
And no, I have no idea why Fox sounds so British.

Dear Diary.  
I know I don't write in you very often, awfully busy now days. Sergent Pepper is running us ragged.  
However, I simply HAD to record the latest misadventure on the Great Fox. There are some things you can't let slide into history. This is for any prospective grandchildren thinking of setting up their own Mercenary team… A warning…

Woke up at the unpleasant hour of quarter past three in the morning to the delightful sound of Falco snoring.  
You'd really think a five foot thick wall of pure titanium would block out that sort of noise, but you obviously haven't heard Falco snore before. It's a hideous combination of a freight truck going up hill in low gear and a cannon being let off.  
This was only amplified by the quite audible fact our dear Mr. Lombardi had been digging into his favourite before bed snack, onion, beef, pastrami and bean sandwiches on rye, causing a phenomenon we on the Great Fox have nicknamed "the roaring tens" seeing the after effects of this terrifying combination would probably reach ten on the Richter scale.  
Anyway, I rugged myself up in my bathrobe and shuffled off to his room determined to either shut him up by force, throw him in the brig or abandon him on the nearest asteroid (though Star Wolf's ship pops to mind…)  
Upon my arrival I discovered that I wasn't the only one our "harmful to the ears" friend Falco had awoken…  
Peppy was running towards me from the opposing end of the corridor, screaming things I shan't repeat for the sake of decency and waving a shotgun above his head.  
And then there was Slippy.  
Okay, Peppy is somewhat a gun toting redneck, but he isn't half as unbearable as Slippy.  
You see, Slippy is the type of kid that EVERYONE picked on at school. Rather then our fetching neckerchiefs, he wears beads. He's obnoxious, showoffy and not all that good a flier. And worse yet is his scream…  
Slippy was standing at Falco's door screaming in an octave only achieved by boy soprano or castrati (it's a popular belief it's the latter) flailing his arms about and running in small circles in his nightdress.   
Unfortunately, a ship the size of ours needs mechanics, engineers and people to do the chores we simply don't have time for when off fighting baddies. And, coupled with the antics of asinine wingmen and Falco's decibel's loud snoring, just about every one of these hangers on were crowding around.  
Now I'm the captain of sorts, the descendent of the first Great Fox and supposedly the leader and boss, but no matter how much I yelled, screamed, ordered and scolded, I was totally ignored.  
Until I lost my temper, snatched Peppy's shotgun and fired three warning shots in the air. Coupled with some rather gristly threats and the looming scare of a pay cut, I managed to convince all the onlookers to scram.  
And only THEN, when the crowd had dissipated, (and rather quickly, I might add) could I berate my over reacting wingmen in volume that I'm sure matched Falco's snores.  
However, just when I'd hit the highpoint of my lecture, Falco threw open his door, told us to be quiet, he was trying to sleep (In terms that could have blistered reinforced concrete, of course…) Then slammed the door in our faces.  
With that, Slippy burst into tears and waddled off to his room while Peppy returned Falco's obscenities and stomped back to HIS room.  
As for me?  
I shuffled back to my room for a stiff drink, a headache tablet and a contemplative silence before writing this all down.  
I think I might just toddle off back to bed for a few hours.

Yours truly.  
_Fox McCloud. _


End file.
